#((i just don't know what to use other than anger))

[doppel-doodles]

A normal post a about Kevin Barnes from Poppy Playtime.

I genuinely feel so bad for Kevin…

Like that was a kid who clearly had a lot of issues from the start, instead of getting the help he needed all that happened was him being marked off as a „problem child“.

And then he was turned into a toy:/

Read more of my full thoughts and a sorta character analysis/ramblings below cut!

Like honestly no wonder he is seething if he wasn’t troubled before he definitely is now-

Obviously he has no trust in anyone, almost every adult he ever knew screwed him over in some way, hell even the kids he shares a body with would go against what he would do.

(Great example: When Doey chases us in his monster form, it's the arms of Matthew and Jack that are trying to keep his mouth from biting us, Kevin's are trying to grab for us.)

He was hurt over and over again, clearly he wasn’t aggressive just because he wanted to be but because this was his only way of making sure he wouldn’t get hurt.

It was how he had a semblance of control, a sense of protection.

But of course the irony is: That coping mechanism brought him more pain, it was what got him killed.

Sure, maybe he could've just "calmed down", but why would he? He was hurt again, he lost everything AGAIN.

All because he listened to their judgement over his own. Kevin could've killed the player and Poppy on sight, clearly his emotions easily overpowered the other two, but he didn't.

Instead he agreed to trust them as well.

He was still willing to do that, surely if he were just a mindless monster he wouldn't be.

And you know what? I believe he blames himself just as much if not more for what happened than he blames us and Poppy and projects it tenfold.

Because maybe, JUST MAYBE-

If he didn't allow himself to trust again, then everyone would still be alive.

But he did...now see what that got him?

In his mind he's proven right.

So what's an emotionally unstable child to do? After being hurt AGAIN?

That's right.

He lashes out at the first thing he sees that had something to do with his pain:

Us.

Is he in the right? Hell nah- bro we didn't mean for that to happen! But do you seriously think this kid is thinking rationally right now??? NO! He is seeing red right now, he is in fight mode! All emotions and must I reiterate that the only way he knows how to express them is through anger and violence?

There is NO reasoning with wrath try as you might! And that hurts because yeah maybe you could've dealt with that if he was still a gradeschooler but he isn't! He is 900 pounds of living dough with a thirst for blood!

It's either our life or his now. And we already know what the outcome of that is.

Honestly I think it's better that we only hear Matthew and Jack apologise for what happened, I do not think Kevin would even if he did feel bad for what he had done.

Because why would someone who has been scorned so many times be vulnerable all of the sudden? When his main character trait is biting at those who bark at him?Why would all that rage suddenly disappear? If anything the stress of dying only causes him to lash out more.

You don't need an apology from him to feel bad for him.

He is hurting anyone with two eyes can see that and for what it's worth, I do believe deep down he knew what he was doing was wrong but it was too late for him to see any other alternatives and even if he didn't and thought he was right for doing what he did it doesn't take away from the fact that he was fucked over by life.

Kevin is not the worst part of Doey, he is just a part of him.

And that part is not just a violent hunk of playdough.

It’s a scared, confused little boy that cared just as much about every toy in safe haven as his other two components did.

Because if he didn’t why would he get so angry about their death?

Anyway thanks for coming to my ted talk-

Also feel free to agree or disagree with my take, those are just my thoughts so let me hear yours, I like discussions:}

[dcxdpdabbles]

So, I have another prompt for you. Valerie Gray is Jason Todd reincarnated, there are some parallels that could work. You can take this in whatever direction you want, but here’s a bit I wrote to get it started. If you want to make it more interesting, you can also hint at having another dp character be a reincarnation of a batfamily member. Here’s some ideas I had for that but you can choose differently or just do Valerie:

Danny = Tim or Steph

Dani = Duke

Jazz = Dick

Paulina = Damian

Maddie = Bruce or Selina

Prompt:

Valerie loved her dad, she didn’t need a mom to be happy in life. (Jason had two mothers and both of them broke something deep inside of him. One of them betrayed and killed him, the other let him love her while he watched her deteriorate and die from addiction until he was left completely alone. His fathers abused him, with beatings and abandonment, lack of care, a batarang to the neck... Valerie was lucky to have someone who loved her.) The day Axion Labs is destroyed by Phantom and his dog, when Valerie’s family is ruined all she can think about is revenge. She’s overcome with a soul deep anger, remnants of a rage that never died in a past life overcoming her. Valerie seethes and plots, she takes the armor from the suspicious billionaire if only because it finally gives her the tools she needs to avenge her dad and herself (Like training with and getting gear from the League of Assassins to be able to accomplish his goals). It almost seems familiar somehow, getting supplies from a suspicious billionaire for a mission of vigilantism. Valerie will use the armor and weapons to eliminate the threat to her town with prejudice, a real hero unlike the false heroics of Phantom. (A hero she thought she could trust, her town hero,��his father didn’t care enough to actually bring about Justice. Valerie would make her own justice, make Amity Park as safe as it should be so no one else has to die suffer like this from a supposed “hero”). The echoes of green vengeance fuel the Red Huntress on her mission to hunt down the Phantom, murmurs of rage tempting her like a siren’s song to be more brutal with the threats. Any sympathy Valerie had towards ghosts died when everything fell to pieces for her (Brutal policies to control the crime in the Alley, now drugs will be regulated, Crime Alley will be safer, and vigilantes won’t neglect their duties in the poorer parts of Gotham any longer. He would be the vigilante Crime Alley needs, the one the rich billionaire never truly worked to save, the one he needed as a kid when he was suffering on the streets. Hope isn’t enough. Violence and regulation has to be the answer, or else what did he do all of this for?). Now Valerie had to work overtime in order to stay afloat because her dad couldn’t find any work that would take him that paid enough to support the both of them (growing up too fast with a single parent that couldn’t support them leading to Jason Valerie having to work hard and be exposed to more than a child should ever have to—) Curse that Phantom…

This is fascinating, and I don't know what to add to it. I like the idea that she has deep, hidden memories of the Pit Madness.

You should add more!

[laurelwen]

Sorry, it's me again. There's this thing that has been...whispering in the back of mind since I read this post for the first time. Nigel wrote: "... I removed a rat's heart and pretended to be disgusted" Why on earth would he feel the necessity to PRETEND to be disgusted in front of Alex?

I've taken a minute to answer this because it's a very good question but difficult and complicated to answer within the context of the film. For those who aren't sure what you're referring to, please see this post transcribing Nigel's notes.

The short answer is: I don't think the people making the props were entirely consistent with the character as scripted. I think most likely they were given some general directives (such as "make sure it highlights the words "egocentric megalomaniac with delusions of grandeur") Outside those few directives, they just sort of let their poetic license run free, injecting their own ideas of a what a "fucked up weird guy who dissects animals" would say into the text, and creating a different version of Nigel than the movie presents us with. The worst example of that is the newspaper article in Alex's book--which doesn't make ANY sense in the context of the film. No one really expected crazy fans to obsessively pause the movie and use photo enhancing techniques frame by frame to determine what was written in his journals or the text of the article, so I think there was a lot of leeway and perhaps some laziness when it came to the props.

It's hard for me to come up with an IN character justification for Nigel to have written that, because it doesn't gel with my observations of him as presented in the film. The journal entry itself is written before he is kidnapped by Alex and the dynamic of their relationship shifts. This IS the entry that made Alex angry enough to kidnap him and teach him a lesson in the first place. This is the Nigel who barely responds to Alex's confrontational anger over the dissection in the dorm room, the Nigel who seems to be completely unmoved by or even very aware of how his actions might impact others. He doesn't care enough to even consider what effect he has on others, and even if/when he is aware, I sincerely doubt he'd bother to *pretend* anything. Nigel doesn't seem interested in pretending to be anything other than what he is, a defining trait that causes him a lot of problems.

Later in the movie, Nigel does shift a bit into a more puckish role. He fucks with Alex in a variety of ways, very noticeably in the train scene when they're going to visit his secret room. He's playful, mischievously antagonistic, poking and prodding Alex and seeming to enjoy his discomfort. This demeanor is more in line with the kind of guy who might write about deliberately messing with his roommate's head. But I still don't know why he would feign disgust in the middle of the dissection given that he's been dissecting animals regularly and Alex would have no reason to think he's grossed out by it.

I suppose if we apply that puckish attitude backward and say that Nigel was already trying to mess with Alex even before the kidnapping, we could sort of squint our eyes and imagine him being very over the top Fake Disgusted as he waves the heart around in Alex's direction. I still don't find that very likely, but it's the best I've got.

If you wanted to, you could use this as part of a theory that Nigel was the real instigator all along and had been intending/planning to manipulate Alex from the moment he was transferred to the school and forced to share a room. In such a reading of the film, all of his behavior could be seen as pretense in some way, including his initial lack of reaction to Alex--calculated to rile Alex up, put him off balance, etc.

I don't personally buy in to that interpretation, just as I don't buy into Alex being the sole instigator. I think either reading ascribes far too much power and control to these teenagers, however intelligent and manipulative they may be. But if you want to go that route, here's a supporting piece to add to your puzzle.

Thanks for the ask and I hope this rambling mess makes at least some sense!

EDIT: please read my reblog of this post. @silhioutte pointed out the very obvious mis-read of this line.

[Like Minds Masterpost - Main]

[overnightheartbeats]

Jenny's face was burning hot, full of anger and indignation. A good portion of it came from the lack of reaction from him. It irritated her that her words were not having the intended effect. It always did amuse her when things she said or implied riled people up or ruined their day. It was unparalleled satisfaction. Well that, and she just cared about ruining his day specifically. Just to push him aside. And, right now - Eli was not providing. Okay, she was jealous. Yes. So what? She had a chance, Jenny just knew it. If he hadn't shown up.

"It is my business. You say that, but there will come a day when you call it quits. Give up the whole idea that you're different from all the other guys here. You'll wreck her, and I'll be there to pick up the pieces. Oh, caring about her safety and where she is, is considered obsession? Whatever. You just don't get it, the way I care. Not that I care about what you think. I just care about you getting the hell out of my way."

Laurel felt his hand on her thigh and felt the familiar warmth wash over her. It was a feeling she had quickly gotten used to, and a touch she now constantly wished for. Hearing the horrible way Jenny expressed herself about Eli made her heart churn. They hadn't known each other long, but Laurel would very quickly assert that everything Jenny said about him was wrong. It hurt to hear her roommate talk like that. But, it also came to mind what Eli had warned her about. He was right after all.

She felt her anger grow in her chest, like lava bubbling under the surface. All the hurt and disappointment coming together to fuel and unload on her roommate as she asked her to leave. In an attempt to not get carried away, she reached for his hand and gave it a light squeeze before shutting the door on her once he let go of the frame. She'd heard more than enough. And, if she looked at Jenny any longer, the sinking feeling in her heart would completely take over her.

Where to even begin? It took her a minute to turn back to look at him, shame completely taking over her features. "I...." she began, but words failed her in that moment. "I'm so sorry about that. I guess I was very wrong about her. You did tell me, but I just don't know if I wanted you to be right. I'm sorry about everything she said, including what I probably didn't hear. I should've just told her I'd be with you instead of at home. Would've avoided this whole mess."

Jenny stood outside the shut door, completely stunned and motionless. If she was angry before, now she was raging. Humiliation like she hadn't experienced before, not only from him, but now her too? It hurt beyond understanding. For someone Jenny cared about so deeply to hurt her just to defend him. It was something that wouldn't stay like this. That, Jenny was certain of. She had not been joking when she told him he'd regret it.

Eli furrowed his brows in confusion just from how she insinuated from him. Talk about someone who had no clue on his character and only judged based on his gender and how college boys were supposed to act. A part of him thought why Laurel would tell her but then again, his rational side told him there was such a thing as a girl code. At least that was what Inez and Emma had told him. In the midst of his confusion there was a trace of jealousy there he could pinpoint. Maybe this wasn't Jenny being territorial over Laurel because of friendship but because of romantic feelings. Not that he thought there was anything wrong with it but it would make sense why he had caught her attention in the worst way. He also couldn't blame her if this was fueled by romantic undertones. Laurel was one of those people that once in your system there was no way to get her out.

"Not that this is any of your business but I don't see her as a college hookup. The fact I'm standing here defending my own feelings on her to you is beyond insane. I care about her more than you think I do and you saying you care isn't the same thing here. Yours is what I'd call obsession. Wanting to know her whereabouts the way you have been asking around about is not caring for her. She's not your toy." He too had people who talked his ear off.

Feeling Laurel beside him, his hand immediately reached for her thigh. He had gotten into that habit of always taking hold of her hand or touch some part of her skin as they pulled into each other. He quieted down as Jenny ripped into him. Eli sighed and couldn't even look at her. Jenny's words circulating in his head made him feel a bit small. Is that how Laurel saw him? Like he'd treat her as a fling. Shaking it off he didn't jump in to aid Jenny since she didn't deserve it anyway but could see Laurel's anger getting the better of the situation. He stood there as she told Jenny to leave as he ceased that thigh hold on her and felt his hands ungrip the door. If Jenny was humiliated now he knew this wasn't the end of it.

[satellite-evans]

closure

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x ex!reader

Summary: you don't need Carlos' closure.

Word count: 2k+

Warnings: angst, based on the Taylor Swift song

A/N:

This my third fic for the folkmore series, and it is with none other than Carlos Sainz! This is my first time writing for him so I was quite nervous, please tell me what you think!

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

It arrives in your inbox at 2:17 AM, the timestamp almost mocking the stillness of the night. The world outside is quiet, the kind of silence that fills your room with its weight, pressing against your ribs as if the very air knows what’s coming.

The email subject line is simple.

Just wanted you to know.

For a moment, you just stare at it. The words are innocuous, almost casual, but your heart knows better. You’ve seen that phrase before—at least in the way it echoed in your mind, in the way you tried to convince yourself you’d be fine without any more explanations.

And for some reason, you already know what it’s about. You don’t need to open it to feel the heavy, familiar knot tightening in your stomach. The ache in your chest that had dulled over time, the one you had worked so hard to ignore, throbs with renewed intensity, as if it’s alive and remembering the shape of old wounds. It’s as though your body recognizes him before your mind even does, and it reacts accordingly—a reflex you can’t outrun.

Your hands tremble slightly, the familiar sensation of fear and longing mixing in your veins, but you can't bring yourself to look away. The old ache becomes a weight in your throat, too, and for a moment, you're almost paralyzed by the gravity of it. You know this isn’t just a message. This is a door opening, an invitation to face something you buried deep. But you click on it anyway, drawn in by something you can’t explain, a part of you still hoping that maybe—just maybe—this will be the thing that makes it all make sense.

I just wanted you to know I hope you're doing well. I know things ended messy between us, and I hate that. I really do. I never wanted to hurt you, and I know that I did.

I’m sorry for how I left. For not saying enough. For saying too much. For everything in between.

I hope you’re happy. I really do.

- Carlos.

The words stare back at you, flat on the screen, sterile and detached. They sit there like a sentence of finality, as if they’re not even meant for you, but for someone who doesn’t carry the weight of your history with him. It’s just an email—another digital scrap of text sent into the void of the night. But after everything, after all that’s passed, this is what he gives you? Does he think that you’re just a situation that needs to be handled? A string of hollow words with no breath behind them, no warmth, nothing that even remotely resembles the person you once knew. No, not even that. The person you thought you knew.

It was almost ironic how the shape of his name still spelled out pain. Every letter, every syllable, carried a weight that dug deep, as if each time you thought of him, the wound reopened. It was strange, how someone you once loved could still manage to hurt you, even in their absence. Everything about him—his words, his actions, even his silence—had caused so much damage that it was honestly a little concerning.

You hated him. No, despised him. The anger simmered under your skin like a constant burn, always just beneath the surface, ready to erupt. The audacity he had, the way he thought he could just walk away, leaving destruction in his wake—it was almost unbelievable. He was wrong in so many ways the day he broke up with you. The way it all went down, how he acted like it was the easiest thing in the world, how he twisted every word you’d said into something it wasn’t—it was wrong, all of it. And by the looks of it, he probably knew by now. He had to. The way time had passed, the way people talked, the way you’d changed—he had to know the damage he’d done.

Your mind replays the last time you saw him. You can still picture it so vividly—the way he had stood in the doorway of your apartment, arms crossed over his chest like a shield, his eyes dark with something you couldn’t read. He looked smaller somehow, the exhaustion wearing him down, hanging off of him like a second skin, like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, yet he couldn't find it in himself to care about you anymore. The lines in his face were deeper, like time had been more unforgiving to him than you ever realized. The way his jaw clenched so tightly when you had begged him to just talk to you, that desperate plea falling from your lips like a prayer, but he wouldn’t listen. His silence had cut deeper than anything he could have said. The way he hadn’t looked back when he walked away. Not once. Not a single glance. Like you didn’t exist. That was when you realized he had put a distance between you two ages ago that you were finally seeing—a sea you were too tired to cross.

The door had clicked shut behind him with a finality that shattered you into pieces you weren’t sure you could ever put back together. That sound—the click of the lock—wasn’t just the end of a visit, but the end of everything. The end of any future you thought you’d have together. You didn’t just lose him in that moment. You lost the life you’d built around him. And you’ve been trying to rebuild ever since.

And now, months later, this. This email. A quiet, late-night message, sterile in its simplicity, like he was trying to offer a neat little bow to wrap up the wreckage he left behind. But there’s no ribbon to tie, no neatness to this. What he gave you wasn’t closure—it was a reminder that, for all his talk of wanting to make amends, he’s still incapable of meeting you where you need him.

You slam your laptop shut, too quickly, too harshly, as if the words might physically reach out and strangle you if you don’t. For a moment, your fingers linger on the lid, shaking, the intensity of your pulse drowning out the quiet hum of the city outside. The night has become suffocating, and you can’t tell if it’s because of the email, or because you’re finally confronting what you’ve been trying to ignore for so long. The pain hasn’t gone anywhere, and neither has the ache. It sits with you like an old friend, one you can’t seem to shake.

It’s almost laughable, really. You can’t help but chuckle bitterly to yourself as you stare at the screen. He thinks he’s giving you closure. That this carefully constructed email, this rehearsed apology, is supposed to fix something, to heal the rift that’s been eating away at you for months. That it will somehow mend the fractures in your heart as if it’s something that can be neatly patched up with a few well-chosen words. But the truth is, it doesn’t even come close. No, this isn’t closure. This isn’t even an attempt at healing—it’s just an afterthought, a last-ditch effort to clear his conscience without ever truly facing the damage he caused. And it’s almost insulting.

Closure isn’t an email at 2 AM, casually dropped into your life as though he’s just checking off a box. It isn’t a collection of words stripped of warmth, void of real feeling, written at a distance, with no regard for the time, or the place, or the person it’s supposed to reach. Closure would have been a conversation. A real one. A face-to-face moment where he would have stayed, where he would have stayed long enough to listen, to hear you, and not just walk away the moment it got hard. That would have been closure. But he didn’t stay. He left you behind with nothing but the echoes of your unanswered questions.

Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, you struggle to steady yourself. You take a deep breath, but it shudders on the way in, uneven and sharp. It feels like your lungs are betraying you, like they can’t hold the air in anymore, and you’re left gasping in the void between anger and heartache. Your throat is thick with unshed tears, but you refuse to let them fall. Not again. Not for him. You’ve cried enough tears for him already, enough for a lifetime. You promised yourself you wouldn’t do this anymore, that you wouldn’t let him be the reason you hurt.

You want to reply. You want to scream, to let him know how deeply he’s failed you, how his absence is still an open wound, festering in the corners of your mind. You want to tell him that, even now, you still wake up in the middle of the night, expecting to hear his voice, expecting to feel the weight of his arm around your waist. You still reach for him in the dark, your fingers grasping at air, and you realize too late that he’s not there. You want to tell him that every time you see red—Ferrari red, that damn red, the color of his car, of everything he used to be to you—you feel like you might break all over again, like all the pieces you’ve tried to pick up and put together have shattered into even smaller bits.

But he's not Ferrari red anymore. He's Williams blue now. You’d probably be a new wrinkle in his life, a person who wouldn’t fit. Heck, you didn’t even fit when he was in Ferrari. You could answer him back, tell him you forgave him, that you both could be friends again. Maybe that would iron everything out nicely.

But you won’t. You won’t give him that satisfaction. You won’t give him the power to pull you back into this mess, into this space where you lose yourself every time you think about him. He doesn’t deserve that. You don’t deserve to let him keep doing this to you.

The frustration, the hurt, the unanswered questions—they all feel like they're swirling in a storm that won't quiet. You crawl into bed, pulling the blankets around yourself as if they could offer the protection your mind and heart desperately crave.

You are fine. Everything is fine. You had your beers, your occasional crying sessions, your candles. You were doing so much better without him. You had to.

It cut deep, knowing him, all the way to the bone. The breakup had been necessary. It had to be. You were healing, getting better, moving on. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

But the ache in your chest and the rapid, shallow breaths you couldn't control told a different story. It was one you knew the ending to but didn’t want to face. His email was oh so unnecessary, cruel even. He had broken up with you months ago, and yet here he was again, trying to reach back into your life. He shouldn’t have contacted you. He should’ve left you alone.

And you definitely should’ve stayed in bed.

Hatred and regret twisted inside of you, each trying to take the lead, but you were too exhausted to figure out which was winning. Still, you knew you had to respond.

Your gaze lingered on the laptop screen for what felt like hours, your mind scrambling for the right words, something that could strike him, something that would hurt, something that would linger with him forever the way he had lingered in your life. But nothing came.

Instead, what you found was something deeper—something far more painful.

Acceptance.

Acceptance was the true winner in the battle between your emotions. It was the thing you’d been running from, the thing you’d fought so hard to avoid. You had accepted it.

It was over.

So, with a steady hand, you typed the final words you’d ever send him and blocked his email so he could never contact you again.

"I don’t need your closure."

[transfemme-shelterdog]

Praise Version

Degrading version here (Transphobic slurs warning)

"So, what exactly did you say that you needed me to do for you again?" you say, as you walk into the home of your childhood best friend.

"Oh nothing, just helping me get rid of some old stuff I don't use anymore. It's a bit much, so I could use all the help I can get" she replies, with a sly smile, as she leads you upstairs to her bedroom.

Inside her room, you see boxes and boxes of junk, with one labelled 'Pre-Transition Clothing', which she proceeds to open up. Inside is a bunch of tshirts, hoodies, pants, boxers, and various other men's clothing.

"Oh yeah, I can see why you'd want to get rid of thi-" you start before she interrupts you- "Hey, what's your size again?"

"Uh, medium or large, women's depending on the brand, and I think between size 2 and 5 depending on brand also, for pants? Why?"

"I think these would fit you" she says, smiling.

"Right, but, I'm not a guy?" you respond with confusion in your voice. "Bit of a butch, but not a guy."

"Sure babe, here, try this on" she says, tossing you a shirt and some boxers.

"I'm not interested, thanks. Can't we just take these to the thrift store or something? Maybe donate to a men's shelter, I think they take clothes too?"

"No, you're going to put them on. Now strip"

"Bu-"

"Strip. Now." she says sternly, with anger in her voice.

"Fine. Where's the bathroom?" you respond, defeated, looking around for the bathroom.

"Oh, you can just get changed here. Besides, we're both girls, right? So what's there to be embarrassed about? Unless..." she retorts coyly.

"You're such a bitch" you sigh, as you take your shirt off, before starting to put the shirt on, only to be interrupted.

"Uh uh uh, bra off. Boys don't wear bras"

"I'm not a boy though?"

"Shut. Bra off" she snaps back, pointing at your chest, signaling for you to remove your bra.

You remove your bra, tossing it to the floor, before slipping the men's shirt on, proceeding to remove both your pants and panties, slipping on the strangely well fitting boxers.

Your friend walks around behind you, before standing behind you, where she embraces you in a bear hug, easily holding you to her body, as she stands a full foot taller than you. With her hands around your body, she pushes you towards a mirror, before slipping a hand down your boxers, sliding her middle and index fingers between your clitoris.

"God you're such a handsome boy, being all dressed up for me like this. It suits you, you know" she whispers in your ear, her hot breath softly tickling you.

"What did you just call me?", you reply, blushing softly as she now has called you a boy twice in a row. It feels strangely... good? Almost natural.

"You heard me handsome, I bet this little pre-t dick of yours is just throbbing for me. Hard to feel right now, but with a little bit of T, it'll be easier for me to not only feel you throb, but also play with it. But I can manage. You're still a boy, and a cute one at that, even without being on T, I can still play with this cock of yours~", softly moaning in your ear, as she softly strokes up and down. It feeling surprisingly good.

"Look in the mirror handsome. Look at yourself, see how much of a man you look like" she says, softly biting down on your ear, as she strokes you off faster and faster, rubbing your clit up and down faster and faster. Your legs start to quiver, and you can feel your inner thighs growing slicker and slicker by the minute, as your best friend forces your face towards the mirror, so you have nowhere to look but as yourself.

"That's it, let me take care of you. Let me show you what it's like to be jerked off, like the man you are", a soft, feminine voice coos in your ear.

As more time passes, you can feel an orgasm coming on. Your legs start to buckle, and shake, as her hand rummages around in the boxers you're wearing.

"That's it handsome, that's it. Give in. Let it happen. Be a good boy for me and cum nice and hard. Just pretend you're shooting a nice big load onto the floor. I know you've always dreamt of doing that", and with that, your body finally gives in. Your knees buckle and you fall to the floor, your legs shaking, and your hole spasming much harder than you've ever had before. Your eyes rolling back in your head, as you pant hard, your boxers drenched, and the men's shirt on your back clinging to your sweat-riddled skin.

"Good boy! You did so good for me. You're more than welcome to take the rest of the clothes with you, and try them on at your house. Also, feel free to come back here any time for another play date" she says, smiling behind you, as she kisses the top of your head. "Remember to lock the door behind you, when you're good to go."

@buni-gutz

[yourgamemasterthewhiterabbit]

Both my parents actually suffer from HORRID emotional dysregulation and are prone to snapping and going into rages. My sister is the same way tbh. I am now realizing this is why they are constantly baffled by the question of whether or not I am mad at them.

I don't have external meltdowns.

I could. I don't let it happen.

I keep my rage on the inside and stay pretty quiet about it. It's just as strong as theirs [physically shaking nose bleed from high blood pressure kind of bad], but like as a kid I saw how terrifying it was to be around [dad breaking dishes, mom putting our lawn chairs into walls] and I just internalized that I wasn't going to wear that anger on the outside.

So my mother genuinely cannot tell if I am just being quiet or if I am silently hearing the dial-up noises of pure rage. This has lead her to both making strong and confident statements like "You are a pacifist who would never hurt a fly U.U" but also acting like I am secretly dangerous maybe... It's because she has never seen me snap.

She knows what her temper is like [throwing chairs through walls], she knows what my father's temper is like [pick up child and toss out door], and she can tell I am being tested, but she doesn't know what happens when I snap or where that breaking point is.

Her -perhaps unhinged- solution to this, my whole life, has been to do things that should obviously enrage me or shut me down completely, like ignoring important boundaries, repeatedly, punishing me for expressing emotions or needs at all, etc... And then to constantly ask me if I am angry with her when I get too quiet [right after near directly telling me to shut up].

It has occurred to me now, they have never once seen me lose my temper, so they literally just can't tell if I am angry at them. My sister is easy, my mother fights and screams with my sister constantly, my mother understands this. My mother doesn't have any grasp of feelings or boundaries that are not screamed at her [apparently, and I fear my sister is the same way]. Her and my sister are close despite constant fucking fighting because they understand each other.

They are trying to get me to engage the same way and it is not working. I realize now that this has been hard for them.

I was so successfully taught to suppress my emotions, by being punished for any outburst, that rage quiet looks the same as any other kind of quiet from the outside. To them anyway.

I did tell her. For the record. I used my words. I did tell her very calmly that my response to rage, in order to avoid doing the things that terrified me as a child, was to simply leave [the autistic urge to GTFO]. When a situation or person causes too much of the dial-up rage noise, I simply extract myself from that situation, up to and including never speaking to a person again. I explained this calmly. I explained it calmly 100 times and I explained that I explain myself calmly as my rage response 1-5 [also pretty much every other negative emotion tbh], and I told her that what came next was me simply opting out and fucking off. I told her this. I couldn't understand why she never took me seriously, or why she never fucking understood.

I couldn't understand what made her like this.

But it's the same problem I have with everyone else multiplied by a factor of 10.

If I am explaining myself calmly, they can't understand that it's actually serious or that I am actually upset. ESPECIALLY because they read me as "female" and women "aren't that rational" so if I am not screaming and crying about something, which I never do, people assume I can't be upset and it isn't serious.

And then after having my boundaries ignored too many times despite having calmly explained how and why it's a problem [shaking inside or not]... I leave. I leave and everyone gets upset like this is unexpected behaviour, even though I told them 50 times that is how I would respond if they kept doing *the thing.*

And for neurotypical people especially, they are expecting there to be a disconnect between what someone says they need or feel and what their actually boundaries and feelings are, and they expect the latter to be demonstrated with emotions. Telling them bluntly you do not function that way somehow never helps?

My mother isn't just looking for normal yelling or a few tears to know I am serious, whether or not I do those either [I don't], she's looking for an explosion to know there's a problem at all.

Fucked if I know how she proceeds through life this way in general or if this is just her expectation of her own kids???

And I couldn't get why my mother couldn't read my emotions and didn't seem to think I have any. It's because she's testing for the rage limit to see where my 'actual' limit is instead of taking my word for it. Never the fuck mind that she could simply *not* test at my boundaries instead of letting me have them. Separate issue.

I couldn't figure out what made her *like this*

She's expecting me to throw a giant meltdown violent tantrum at people when I have 'actually' had enough. Maybe she got away with those being like 5'4" in another time, but I am the size of the average man, I do not get to have giant screaming rages, whether or not people perceive me consciously as a woman, and least of all because a lot of people -at least unconsciously- read me as 'masculine' or at least always "they guy" of the situation compared to all other women and some men [bigger stronger and more rational, more able to just absorb the damage and let it go so the less rational screaming/crying one doesn't have to be dealt with]. Even if it was in me to be willing to terrify people [usually never], there are such limited instances where it wouldn't just blow back on me. Potentially very dangerously.

I am going to be the quiet calm one. You are going to have to let me use my words, bitch.

So she kept ignoring my boundaries until I had to cut her out of my life, and she probably doesn't understand and probably thinks it feels sudden -after 36 long years of bullshit- abrupt and unfair.

But I told her hundreds of times.

I probably should have just screamed at her.

[naga-raja-suresh]

They were slow and thoughtful games. A new move, a new gambit. A dance that changed tempo. Suresh would use each and every gift in his inventory to come out on top. There was no shame in winning by any means necessary. But there was also not the same rush with the witch as with some of the others. Give something, get something, show something, discover something... Flattery and acknowledgements of a well put together scheme were just as important as actual attacks. A wink and a nod rather than a punch to the face. Listening to Corvinus speak about Mathias was amusing though. He couldn't wait to tell the young Leader how well he'd done. "Don't tell me that you're surprised that Callum told his people the moment you showed your face to him? The Deathrunners leader, like the Nameless', likes to keep themselves more anonymous." Suresh shrugged at Corvinus' mention of Mathias, "That one is just very young and untested." Complete truth. Because Corvinus wasn't the only one that knew how to use the truth to lie. "But he has a very pretty face."

At the feel of the other's power Suresh made a soft, calculated gasp. Because it cost him nothing to let the other know he could feel him. Aura's touching was a different type of intimacy. An invisible press of something. Rage... So much anger. Hate was a burning desire. Just like love. And even a small whisper of it was thick like tar on fingers. Suresh's eyes glittered eerily in the low light as they drew themselves back. "It's yours to keep..." He flashed a grin and laughed at the comment about the jacket coupled with the self-maiming statement, a touch of fang visible for only a moment. "I'll give it back. Don't worry, you won't need to open up a vein tonight. At least not on my account." When Corvinus didn't move away Suresh leaned forward a little , but kept his hands to himself for now. "Careful?" Suresh said with a grin, knew exactly why Corvinus had warned him, but he was going to push until he met real resistance. His tail gently and playfully tugging on the other's ankle. It came back to the fact that Suresh felt more secure the closer he was to others, either for the comfort or because he was lightening fast and strong enough that close gave him a distinct advantage, "I already promised I wouldn't harm you again tonight... I'll be hurt to hear you don't believe me. You know... Since we aren't lying to each other."

Suresh's focus was on the witch. The way the other leaned back, crossed his legs, Suresh let his tail slide off the ankle that moved. The Naga loved watching the ancient witch. Trying to pick apart each and every move. Layers and layers. Eyes moving away, fingers tapping. Impressions and the truth. The word grant caused one of Suresh's eyebrows to lift in curiosity. The two of them looking at each other again. And Suresh nodded. Plausible. Tasted the way everything tasted from the other. But the Nameless leader not being in the city made a great deal of sense. And put quite a few things into perspective. The sense of waiting. The facelessness. It also aligned with what Callum had spoken about, that Corvinus' had been hunting. It fit very neatly together. But it also didn't answer the question that Suresh had asked.

Suresh leaned forward slowly, placing his hands softly on Corvinus' knees. He coaxed the witch's legs back apart as he slid towards the witch. But didn't move his hands any farther than just above the other's knees. His strength and the length of his body letting him lean forward much farther than a human would be able to. "Yes, you've rather been like a rock in a pond... So many ripples..." The Naga hummed softly. "I'll see about the meeting. So we can get you on your way back to Ireland."

Half truths and lies of omission were where he worked best. To twist something poisoned and corrupt so that it resembled beauty to be offered was a skill all on its own. There was no need for spells to charm of hypnotize save for some here and there when he had the power of words at his fingertips. Gaining desired information, turning others against their closest allies, stirring up battles in times of conflicts, all for his own gain. It was always nice that his hard work was noticed rather than those that bought in to a beautiful lie. Fools only bored him in the end. There were no true games if there was no challenge or perhaps he had simply become jaded in more ways than he thought. As for play acting, "Fior was smart to play along, though I am a little disappointed he knew already. I put quite a bit of effort in to that one. The necromancer boy, though...all it took was a drink. The Deathrunners leave a lot to be desired if they make someone so foolish their Underboss. I felt bad for him, truly."

To be brought into a lie so easily, there had been a touch of guilt when Mathias had left. Just barely, he had certainly done far worse in his long life. But now likely, his games wouldn't work any longer save for perhaps the bottom of the barrel folks. The ones ranked so low that they wouldn't be brought in to conversations of the Blood Witch. A true shame. Seeing the games come to their conclusion was always a bit disappointing but there were things to do before he found out what a deity could do to an insubordinate blood witch.

As he felt the small push towards himself, Corvinus wasted no time pushing back with his own aura of magic. Letting it seep through just slightly, pressing against the naga. But while the other radiated desire, his own was tainted with rage. Not towards Suresh, not right now, but often how his magic displayed itself. It was hatred and spite that allowed him to obtain his powers and still the powerful motivators that kept him going rather than secluding himself in his estate and watching the world fade away through the windows. But he was quick to pull his back and draw the small taste back into himself. They toyed with different weapons. "I think I'll just keep this one. Though it is adorable how keen you are to keep my jacket away. I'm not above self-maiming to get blood I need if pushed." Suresh had seen how quickly he had healed, there was no point pretending as if blood draw wasn't a tedious task. He felt the tail loosely wrap itself around his ankle though he didn't pull away. "Careful now," he gave a soft warning. The touch was fine so long as it didn't descend into violence and fighting again.

Still at the topic of the Nameless leader, Corvinus gave a sigh that was annoyed. As if it was a topic he didn't much care for. His lips pursed, leaning back into the couch with his arms stretched over the top and legs crossing. An image of openness and walls at the same time. His eyes moved to the windows, a long silence as he focused on the scenes down below. Fingers of one hand were tapping, dancing on the couch as though he were trying to come up with the perfect words. "...I'll grant you another trust," he finally spoke and attention rounding back to Suresh, "I said before you were the reason I came here. True in a way, but you weren't the one that initially drew my attention to the city. Just a happy perk." He thought about how far he should go, how careful to be. Whatever story he gave for the Nameless was a truth in a way considering where he was, so was the other. "I've been hunting while exploring the lovely city. The reason you haven't been able to reach the leader is because, well...he hasn't been here."

He'd been traveling, giving orders from afar, while gathering supplies and powers since his binding to the god. And trying to find a way to sever that same bond. "He came in to my country a few months ago. While I don't claim her lands, I ensure that my isles, my homeland, is safe. You wanted to know why I was here, I was drawn out. Forced into a game I had no intention of getting involved in to ensure me and my own are left alone. You want to know why I chose you three over the Nameless? You didn't interrupt my peace of mind. So I provoked, I taunted, all to create more noise to lure out what I wanted. Honestly, you lot did most of the work for me. And once I'm certain this is handled with the meeting, I will return home to my domain and continue my own works." Everything was stated so bluntly with that hint of annoyance on the topic. It was truths....though it was more the deity itself had lured and forced his involvement rather than any Leader in the shadows.

[problemnyatic]

You have to choose love. I'm sorry, I know. I know it hurts. I know you're upset, you deserve to be outraged. Your pain is real and deeply unjust. But you have to. You have to choose love.

There's too much hurt in the world. Too much bitterness. The powerful have built an inconciecable machine that turns all human suffering into unimaginable wealth, and it us hurting all of us. It has taught us to hurt each other.

We can't let it continue. We can't keep lashing out at each other. We can't keep making enemies of our siblings in pain. We have to choose love. We have to.

We have to forgive each other. Not entirely, we don't have to forget our pain, but we have to forgive enough to see each other as more alike than separate. We have to forgive each other for being taught to cause hurt.

I'm not your enemy. You aren't mine. There are people poisoning our planet en masse, killing our mother earth, erasing whole cultures, stripping human rights to keep us disempowered. We can't let ourselves become each other's enemies, even when we hurt each other.

Your pain is real. You deserve better. We all do. But we'll only achieve better if we save our ire for the real bigger fish. We can't keep fighting over the details, we all already agree on the most important part: we deserve better.

Language will always be muddy, we won't all speak the same meaning into the same words. We're gonna step on each other's toes, hurt each other deeply, even when we mean to be gentle. We're going to make mistakes along the way, we'll be misguided. But we have to forgive. We have to choose love.

I know this is preachy, I know this is vague, I know this is corny. I know. I'm just.. scared. I'm terrified. Every day I see so many like-minded people on here who would sooner tell one another to kill themselves than agree to fight for our common causes because of deeply held presumptions of character built on superficial things. I see people declaring anyone who finds joy in the wrong things, the wrong labels, to be as good as an abuser, as the very people who've put the boot on our necks in the first place.

I see so many people see the state of our world, the abysmal status quo, and respond by pouring a deep righteous passion into delineating who of us is a worthy enough aly and who is effectively a walking incarnation of their ideological enemy.

We'll never be able to achieve the unity we need to take our rights back if we're so quick to make teams and choose sides. I know, I know that a lot of these things actually matter, I'm not trying to dismiss the significance of any of these things.

What I'm saying is that, despite these conflicts, we need to swallow our differences and choose to love each other enough to focus not on the ways in which we are divided, but on our unity in oppression. Every LGBT person is threatened by any of us having our rights taken, we are a family. Every internet user, proship, antiship, vanilla, kinky, artist, lurker, all of us are threatened by attacks on privacy, by the advancement of censorship of any kind.

We can sort out our grudges when there's time. But I can't help but think too much is too dire for us to let ourselves choose to fight each other as enemies when we're all in such similar need of better.

We need humility in the face of error. We need to let go of the fear of being wrong, of having believed the wrong things, fought for the wrong causes, of having hurt other people. We need to release our guilt, for no amount of it will ever heal a wound inflicted, reverse an error made. We need to see even our enemies as human, even the worst of us as human. We need to remember that we, and others, can always make a choice.

Everything is so, so goddamn scary. It's hard to know what to believe, and who to trust, and who and what and where is safe. And I think that the answer has to be love. We have to love recklessly, we have to be kind no matter what. We have to trust ourselves to change, to be capable of change, of being accepted for changing, we have to trust each other to mean well, to accept us when we try to improve. We have to give second chances, we have to seek the humanity behind each other's actions, and seek to connect with it.

I love you. I want to make a better world with you. Even if we believe different things, I want your life to be easy. I want food in your fridge, I want joy to be an old friend you can always count on being in your daily life. I want rest for you. I want sleep to come easy, I want you to feel safe. I want you warm in the cold, and cool in the heat. I love you.

[krysmcscience]

Saw this prompt for incorrect OC quotes and couldn't resist with a bunch of my Breach goobers. Some of them would absolutely say these things word for word in canon if I gave them half the chance to, though. XD

They're in order of when they showed up in person - Qīng, Ghost, Red, Marisol, Shio, Cam, Daruk, Tawoos, and Alondra - as well as some important honorable mentions who have only been mentioned or gotten dialogue - Star, Blake, and Creation.

Star's design is a slight spoiler, I suppose, but it doesn't reveal if they're human or impostor, so it's all good. Creation's "design" also isn't a spoiler at all, because They can look however They want, LOL. As for Shio...some of you who have seen the body horror I've done of them may be wondering why they look so normal here, but I promise there are Reasons. :3c

In other news, will I be making a liar out of Shio in an upcoming Breach canon divergence? ..........Maybe~ >:3c

[uncanny-tranny]

I think the thing about the way people conceptualize empathy is... when you're interacting with other people, they are going through things that, which you may empathize with, you won't always understand, partially because you're two different people, but also because not all situations are 1:1 copy-pastes that are easy to understand.

This isn't saying that empathy is useless, but that acknowledging when you relate personally to somebody and yet also recognizing that this is their struggle is important. When people pretended to empathize with me, it made me feel like I was being placated to. I felt like people were only trying to shut me up by saying that they, personally, "get it," when I knew they didn't. I just don't want people replicating that because they genuinely do want to help the people in their lives.

[an-absolute-nightmare]

man what the fuck i spent fifteen years of my life in school and i somehow came out not knowing how to handle my emotions OR balance a chequebook

[the-punforgiven]

Sometimes I am reminded that For Honor can be both the most fun shit in the world and also the most viscerally unfun thing to ever exist in the universe and it depends entirely on who you're fighting and how many of them there are

[pavlovianpanic]

nathan being codependent while sean encourages codependence in people

[loycos]

ahh caitlyn my beloved.

let's talk about the trauma she has around jinx, in particular, in a way i think is more related to being targeted by jinx than just grief.

don't get me wrong- grief is a huge part of why caitlyn is all over the place this arc (season?). she probably came to the conclusion that her softer, pacifistic attitude from the first season is the reason she ended up hurt. clearly the rocky relationship she had with her mother adds a layer of bitterness and regret caitlyn is feeling regarding her death. alongside a million different reasons, which i might discuss in a different post.

but there's a clear difference between the anger and coldness we see from caitlyn when she discusses catching jinx and bringing her to justice, than when she faces jinx head on. in the latter, she suddenly loses her cool and acts all frantically, so unlike anything we've seen from caitlyn so far.

in her mind, in episode 1, she sees herself as collected and calm, aiming her rifle at jinx. btw, take note of how jinx is depicted here. her eyes are glowing.

but in reality, she's very much NOT cool and collected when she thinks that exact scenario is about to be replicated.

that's caitlyn's pov btw:

again jinx with the glowing eyes- caitlyn had seen what jinx looks like in other circumstances, but THIS is the version of her that she visualizes and then irrationally reacts to.

we see it again when she shoots jinx in the finger

no composure, no deep breathe, no thinking. she just shoots on instinct. it's nothing like she used to.

and then her frantically calling vi to move out of the way as she keeps firing, almost like shes blind to everything but jinx- the kid and vi, who are both in harm's way, don't stop her.

i know it's easy to just paint it as anger and grief here, but there's something about it that strikes me as almost like animalistic fear. she sees jinx and just goes feral mode, but its almost more of a prey instinct than a predator.

and i think it's because whenever she faces jinx, properly, it's not the grief and radicalized anger she's feeling, it just sends her back to this moment

with all the "jinx murdered her mom" talk its easy to forget that jinx also directly, and cruelly, targeted caitlyn, tried to kill her, kidnapped her and held her hostage for who knows how long. it's not just anger that caitlyn feels towards jinx. it's a trauma response. and like, welcome to the club, caitlyn! most of the arcane cast are acting out of trauma. but i better not see people think her trauma is somewhat lesser than some... other.. characters.

[redeemingvillains]

veritaserum - mattheo riddle

summary: when mattheo drinks veritaserum on a bet, he's confident he doesn't have anything to hide... until you show up.

word count: 3.1k

a/n: gosh i love this messy boy. just a little something sweet + fun!

"I don't know... shouldn't we save it for something... important?"

"Like, what Blaise?" Malfoy responded, exasperated.

"Yeah, got any plans you want to share?" Theo asked.

"All ears, bud" Mattheo joined in.

Blaise threw his hands up. "Fine, fuck it, do what you want with it" he said, resigned, referring to the small vial in Malfoy's hand that had the group's rapt attention as they huddled in the corner of their dormitory like they were first years at a sleepover.

"We should put it in somebody's goblet at dinner."

"We should slip it into Dumbledore's cup, Merlin knows what the geezer would say."

Theo got a wicked look on his face, "I'll give any of you lot 100 galleons to drink it."

Eyes widened around their circle at that.

"You're joking."

"Piss off."

"No, listen to me, we think we know everything about each other, don't we?" Theo continued, letting the sentiment linger "Which means the things we don't know are deep."

He grabbed the vial from Malfoy and dangled it in front of them; Veritaserum, the most powerful truth serum in the wizarding world, even having it in their possession was breaking about 15 Ministry laws.

Members of the group stared shiftily at one another, but Theo found Mattheo's gaze staring boldly at him as he leaned casually against his four-poster, a smirk on his face.

"Make it 200 and you've got yourself a deal" Mattheo grinned.

Snickers of laughter took the group as they punched one another in amusement and excitement.

"Bottoms up" Theo said, tossing the vial at him.

"I've got nothing to hide" Mattheo replied with an air of emblazoned confidence as he deftly popped the cork and threw the liquid back like a shot of firewhiskey before anyone could stop him.

It didn't taste like anything other than water, and for a moment Mattheo thought this was the easiest 200 galleons he'd ever make, but then he felt a sort of bubbling in his chest, like every feeling, every sentence he'd ever held back wanted to burst forth.

"...Well?" asked Malfoy, cautiously, leaning in, "How do you feel?"

"Bloody weird" Mattheo said, looking down at the empty vial in his hand. "And apprehensive, like I definitely don't want you to ask me things." His eyes widened at the words that had come so truthfully and vulnerably out of his mouth before he could stop them, suddenly realizing that he'd made a horrible mistake.

Theo was howling with laughter, leaning in and rubbing his hands together as he got ready to obliterate his best friend for being so cocky; he was going to make every galleon worth it.

"Did you take Blaise's Chudley Cannons scarf last term?" he asked.

"Yup, sold it to a fifth year for a bag of weed— SHIT" Mattheo said quickly, eyes wide before slapping a hand over his mouth.

"Mate, what the fuck?—" Blaise started, but Theo was on a tear.

"—Did you cheat off of Lorenzo's potions exam this week?"

"Of course" Mattheo admitted, the words blasting by his hand, "I've been doing it since fourth year, his handwritings the size of my fist, thanks for that by the way" he said, looking at Enzo.

"Prego, amico" Lorenzo said smiling and shrugging, "happy to help."

"Alright then" Blaise said, the anger and frustration clear in his voice as he eyed Mattheo, "better own up, didn't you slip McLaggen a galleon to let Theo score on him last match?"

"Yeah, fuck, and I'm not sorry about it. I'm tired of hearing Theo piss and complain about losing when he barely shows up to practice and lets the rest of us down."

"OOHHH!" shouted several of the guys.

"Fucking harsh mate!!"

"What the fuck?!?" Theo shouted angrily as he lunged for Mattheo and the others tried to hold him back.

Amidst the shouting and commotion, they didn't hear you knock on the door.

"Guys?" you asked, raising your voice to be heard.

Five heads turned your way as they stopped mid-brawl and began to stand up and right themselves, adjusting their ties and smoothing their robes. For his part, Mattheo's heart nearly shot out of his chest. No, no no no not right now he thought as you pushed your way into their room. On any other occasion he'd be thrilled to see you, but now the bubbling in his chest was reaching its peak at the sight of his deepest, most tightly held secret: you, and every single thing he felt about you.

He took in your amused smile, the light laughter on your lips, the way it made your eyes sparkle and he felt his palms tingle with sweat as he grasped them into fists and swallowed deeply, like he could ingest his own thoughts. You were his best friend, had been since the moment he met you on his first train ride to Hogwarts and he had no illusions about ruining your friendship by trying for anything else; girls like you didn't end up with guys like him.

"Are you alright?" you asked, looking at him strangely before his friends chimed in for him.

"S'fine!"

"Yeah, yeah!"

"Never better!"

"What do you need, love?"

"I am NOT fine!" Mattheo said boldly and rather loudly before he could stop himself and your eyes shot to him with concern.

"Wait, what's wrong Matty?" you asked, using the nickname he only tolerated coming from you.

He pursed his lips tightly and shook his head, averting his eyes to the floor, physically warring with the words that were flooding his subconscious.

What's wrong? A lot of things are wrong, YN. For starters, I love you. I love you so much it physically pains me to spend as much time as we do together and not to grab your hand, to pull you onto my lap, to nuzzle into your neck, to kiss you; I have a list of things I want to do to you every time I see you. Especially in that godsdamn skirt you're wearing. It's my favorite. You should know that. And I wish you would stop wearing it, you have no idea the ways guys look at you. I wish you'd wear it only for me. I wish you'd want me the way I want you, because I want you so badly. I wish you were mine, but I'm scared, no, fucking terrified of the way I feel about you because love is vulnerability and vulnerability is weakness and I can't tell you any of this so please, please don't ask me anything and please, please stop looking at me like that.

"Matty?" you asked again, now thoroughly concerned as your best friend slammed his hands over his ears as you walked towards him.

Theo was burning hot with anger, stewing over what Mattheo had said about him, he wanted to take him down a notch, to embarrass him in return. "Admit it" he interrupted, staring at Mattheo "you have a thing for Pansy and you've tried to make a move on her even though she's with Draco."

You stopped short of approaching Mattheo and stared at Theo.

"What?" you whispered, feeling physically ill, jealous and hurt even though you had no such right.

Mattheo straightened up and glared at Theo.

"What the fuck did you just say?!" Draco said, brushing past you as he came for Mattheo.

"I'm right, aren't I?" Theo pushed further, so smug, so certain he was right.

"No you fucking prat" Mattheo spat at him.

Draco grabbed Mattheo by the front of his robes. "You swear it, you haven't made a move on her?"

"I swear it."

"Not even before we were dating?" Malfoy pressed.

"Not even before you were dating" Mattheo confirmed.

"What the fuck is going on?" you said, exasperated, almost to yourself as you tried to calm down.

"Veritaserum" Blaise said by way of explanation as he leaned in to be heard over the continued shouting of your friends. "Theo bet one of us to drink it and, well..." he said, gesturing his hand by way of explanation at the calamity in front of you.

Malfoy was shouting questions at Mattheo who looked genuinely surprised if not annoyed, and Enzo was looking back and forth at them like it was a tennis match. Theo had a deeply skeptical look on his face as he listened on, "No, you're always weird around Pansy and YN though, I thought..." then, like a lightbulb went off, Theo looked at you, to Mattheo and back again.

"Do you think Pansy's hot?" Malfoy continued.

"Bro, give it up" Blaise said finally, stepping to pull him back, "I think you're in the clear."

"I mean yeah she's hot, but she's not my type. FUCK!" Mattheo replied, rubbing a hand over his face at the admission.

"She's not, but YN is" Theo said finally.

Mattheo bit his bottom lip and stared at the floor, concentrating very hard on the tassels of the rug beneath his feet as he shook his head, a grimace on his face.

Your heart trilled in your chest, which was literally rising and falling in both panic and excitement. Mattheo was shaking his head no, but his whole body was fighting something, there was something he didn't want to say... about you.

"So, she's not your type? Not attractive to you at all?" Theo pushed.

Mattheo's face was turning a dark shade of red as pursed his lips closed and shook his head vehemently, refusing to meet anyone's eyes, his own nearly watering with the exertion of fighting the potion within him.

"Totally platonic? Didn't give a shit when Seamus Finnegan asked her out last term?"

Mattheo glanced at Theo, gathering himself, as he tried desperately to say the only truth he wanted to share. "He's a prick, no secret I didn't think it was a good idea—"

"—You never told me that" you said quietly, confused, and not a little bit angry. "But you avoided me for a few weeks after, I remember..." you said, trailing off as you stepped closer to him, and Mattheo's looked genuinely afraid, outstretching his hands to stop you from coming any closer.

"What don't you want to say?—"

"—I don't want you here right now!" he said loudly.

You physically reared back at the harshness of his words. You caught his eye, trying to communicate the way you often did with one another, to ask things that could only be said without words, but you got nothing in response.

"R-Right" you said, your voice wobbling as you turned to leave, thoroughly embarassed.

And the sound of it nearly broke Mattheo's heart.

"Wait, wait, I didn't meant it like that, I don't want you to be upset, please don't be upset" he said, moving to reach for your hand urgently, the unmasked care and compassion in his voice making you turn and making Draco and Blaise bat at each other's arms in excitement like school girls at the scene unfolding in front of them.

"I don't want you to hear my truth" Mattheo said quietly, and just like that it was just the two of you, you who knew more than any of these idiots, you knew about Blaise's scarf (you had told him not to sell it), about him cheating in potions and paying off McLaggen, but even you didn't know his most deeply held secret and this isn't how he wanted it to come out.

"Please" he begged, in way none of his friends had ever heard him speak before.

"I just... I thought I knew all of your truths?" you said vulnerably, your chin wobbling, saddened at the idea that there was a part of him you didn't know.

"You don't. I'm sorry" he said simply.

"But they get to hear them?" you said, gesturing towards your friends.

"No, they don't know them either."

"What would be so bad that you wouldn't want anyone in your life to know, Matty?"

He bit his tongue as he tilted his head. "It isn't bad. I didn't say it was bad" he said.

You could tell he was playing with you, selectively choosing his words. Your curiosity piqued as you turned to face him fully with your arms crossed.

"What don't you want us to know?" you asked.

"How I — FUCK — feel — mmhmm" he tried to physically shove the words back into his mouth, clapping his hands over his mouth again as his body betrayed him.

Theo stepped forward, trying to pry his hands back. "Say it!" he said.

Mattheo tried to wiggle out of his grasp, the two of them thrashing back and forth.

"C'mon mate, time to earn those galleons! Cough it up! How you feel about what?" and Theo yanked Mattheo's hands away from his mouth just long enough for Mattheo to all but shout:

"HER!" he said, loudly, pointing to you. "About YN. I — FUCK — fucking love her."

You could have heard an owl feather hit the floor.

"Oh shit" Malfoy whispered.

Theo took a step back as he realized the enormity of what he'd just done. He'd thought Mattheo had a little crush on you, I mean, didn't they all? He thought it was just a bit of fun. But love? He'd know Mattheo for 7 years and he never so much as heard him say the word, let alone direct it at another person, in fact he knew just how much the concept had been beaten out of him as a child.

"Mate, I'm—" he started.

Mattheo glared at him in way that reminded you for a moment about the family he came from, and it was the first time you'd ever seen Theo genuinely afraid as the smile dropped from his lips and he took an unconscious step back.

"Fuck you" Mattheo said, stepping towards him, the measured control in his voice somehow more frightening than the alternative. "You always take shit too far, you know that? That's why—"

"—Matty?" you said, your quiet whisper and the questions that lingered behind it tugging at his heart and pulling his attention back to you.

He met your eyes and the fury he felt at Theo dissolved in an instant, like it had apparated from the room, because the way you were looking at him was an expression he'd only seen in his dreams. You didn't look angry or confused, you weren't laughing or embarrassed, the sparkle in your eye was back and a soft smile rested on your lips, your eyes were blown wide, hopeful even, with a hint of something else underneath that had a sensation like melted honey spreading throughout his entire body.

"Can we maybe talk... outside...?" you asked.

"Yes, for the love of the gods" he said, walking quickly to your side, letting his hand rest gently at your back, the intimate gesture not lost on anybody as your friends wolf-whistled and snickered and he flipped them the finger over his head.

Now that the truth was out, there was nothing stopping the words that flew out of Mattheo's mouth as you led him to a nearby secluded corridor.

"I really want to talk to you about this" he said, the moment you were outside of the dormitory, "I am so embarrassed that it came out that way, that's not at all how I wanted to tell you, well, I didn't want to tell you at all, I was terrified actually. I've liked you for a long time, really since the first day we met, do you remember? On the train? You were wearing that blue jumper, you smelled like cinnamon and vanilla... You always smell so fucking good—"

You laughed as you pulled him with greater urgency by the hand away from prying eyes as he continued to ramble on, the truth serum creating a veritable waterfall of words out of his mouth.

"—You're so fucking beautiful, I love your hair, your eyes, your smile, your nose... that sounds weird, but it's true, it's so fucking cute—"

"—Mattheo" you said, as you stopped, placing your hands on his chest and pressing him gently against the stone wall to get him to slow down. "Breathe."

He shook his head.

"No, it's out now, and I don't know how long this shit lasts and if I don't say this stuff now, I'm not sure I'll ever have the balls to say it to your face, I've held onto this for 7 years YN."

Your lips curled into a small pout at how sweet he was being, at the idea that your best friend had been pining for you since you were 11 years old.

"I love you" he continued breathlessly, "and not like a little bit. Like, a lot. I don't know..." he said, carding his hand through his brown curls, "I've never felt this way about anyone, anything. I'm all consumed with you. You're the only thing I think about, the only girl I want, I'd do anything for you. And I'm sorry if this is going to totally wreck our friendship, if you want things to stay the way they are, I will try my level best—"

But his words were cut short as you pressed your lips to his, capturing his truth, letting it wash over you, every word you had been desperate to hear, every thought you'd shared the same. It surprised him for only a second before his hands grasped your face and he pulled you further into him.

"You're fucking perfect" he whispered after a moment, his eyes dancing over your features.

"Remind me again why I didn't give you veritaserum like years ago?" you said, smiling against his lips.

"It's a felony?" he said, laughing.

"...Right" you said, laughing back.

You were only gone a few minutes, but as you scurried back to the dormitory you tried to fix your hair, and wipe the lipgloss off of Mattheo's face as he smiled down at you with puppy dog eyes.

"They're going to lose their mind" you said quietly just outside the door, "let's just play it cool, alright?"

And before he could respond that there was no way on earth he could possibly do that, you pushed the door open and all conversation stopped.

"...Alright?" Theo asked, turning to face you both, nervous at the potential mess he may have caused.

"Fine, we were just talking—"

"—She macked me!!" Mattheo shouted truthfully with a huge grin on his face as he wrapped his arm around you.

You gasped and swatted at him playfully, your cheeks blushing a rosy pink as your friends erupted into cheers, hoot and hollers, descending on you both as Mattheo looked down at you, glowing, happier than you could ever remember seeing him.

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